


Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Espionage, F/M, Flirting, Harassment, Humor, Karaoke, Serenade, Singing, bad costumes, skoulsonfest2k15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skoulsonfest2k15 - Day 5: Karaoke. Skye sings karaoke under duress, then demands payback in kind.</p><p>Song from the title of the Crystal Gayle song of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue

“How are we getting out of this one, again?”

“My information here might be a little outdated,” he said, quietly as they sat in the hard wooden chairs at the back of the dimly lit room.

Their hands were bound behind them with heavy white cord.

Skye raised her eyebrows at him.

“I relied pretty heavily on Romanov,” he said, with a sigh, looking at the two guards positioned near the door. “Maybe you can just…y’know…?”

“I don’t have that level of control yet,” she said back in a hush. “I could bring down the whole place,” she added, referring to her seismic powers. 

She looked around at the rafters and the nearby stage.  “Besides, I don’t think these guys have passed inspection since...before I was born.”

“I thought we were dealing with Solntsevskaya Bratva," he replied. "Not some disgruntled family members of a Chechen separatist."

“They were passing themselves off as Bratva,” she said, twisting against the back of her chair as one man turned his back. “You sure they’re Chechen?”

“Yes. And I heard a name mentioned. Baburov,” he said. “Does it mean anything to you?”

“Hold on,” she said, mulling it over, closing her eyes to recall. “It’s a Russian journalist, I think, killed in 2010. He was a political activist who did not make the right friends in high places, if you know what I mean.”

“Might be something we can use,” he said. “These guys think we’re CIA.  Not exactly on friendly terms.”

“He was covering the trial of the murder of a Chechen woman by a police officer when he was assassinated,” she added.

“They might be looking for some political revenge,” he said. “Information trade, get some cells unlocked.  Dammit. I knew there was a reason I should’ve been nicer to Talbot.”

“Talbot wouldn’t lift a finger for us.”

“No, but I could probably twist his finger, if he would use it to return my calls after the Ward incident,” he said, wincing as the ropes cut in.  “But, hey,” he said smiling at her. “Nice work.  Tasha would be proud.”

“Sir,” she said, trying not to smile. “You’re making me blush.”

They quieted down as a group of men approached them.  An older man was standing among them, ruddy face and thin white hair, with a boredom about him that didn't seem exactly dangerous. It was possible he was actually bored.

"CIA?" he said in Russian-tinged English. "Don't think so," he said, taking a pistol from one of his men. "What are you?"

"Worse," Skye said. "Rising Tide."

"Hackers," he laughed, looking between his men, then back at her.  " _That_ is no hacker," he said, pointing at Coulson.

"Fair enough," Coulson replied. "We're SHIELD."

The man looked extremely interested. "Also terrorists?"

"Minus the terrorism...thing," Coulson said. "Look, you guys seem like you need some help.  I'm willing to overlook this pretty _aggressive_ introduction if you'll just untie us.  We can sit down, have a vodka..."

"You talk a lot," the other man interrupted, snapping his fingers as one of his men brought him a chair.  He turned the seat to face him and sat across from Skye.

"What do you do?"

"Talk...less?" she said, fluttering her eyes.

"You will both talk lots, very soon," he said, as another man entered the room, his heels clicking on the empty barroom floor. Finally arriving, he leaned over and whispered in the boss' ear.

The man's eyes got wide and he turned two shades of red.

"Do you sing?" he said, suddenly desperate sounding.

They turned to each other slowly.

"You are Americans, totally?"

***

"Are these country western ice skating uniforms?" she asked with a mixture of disgust and confusion, holding out the blue and white spandex thing in front of her and shaking the fringe.

"Polyester," Coulson moaned, coming out from behind the changing screen as Skye started laughing. 

They were white, high waisted, very tight and _very_ polyester.  The satin royal blue cowboy shirt with the fringe all over it wasn't helping, either.

"These pants are so tight," he complained, taking a step forward. "I might pass out."

" _Good_ ," she said, walking behind the screen. "You can hit all the high notes since you practically volunteered me."

" _Us_. I volunteered _us_ ," he said, straightening the bandana tie around his neck and putting on the white cowboy hat in front of the mirror in the tiny side room.  "We need to be ready when this deal goes down."

"You think they're using our credentials?" Skye asked, throwing her shirt over the screen.

"Probably," he replied, sucking in his stomach with a grimace, turning sideways. "I think they're drawing someone out."

"I can't imagine who," she said, sounding disgusted as she appeared in front of him in a matching shirt with a skirt made out of white fringe.

"Sorry," he said, taking in an eyeful of leg wrapped in shiny tights.

"Not sorry enough!" she replied, squeezing in next to him in front of the mirror. "At least you have pants."

"Here," he said, smirking at her when she turned on him, taking the hat off his head and putting it onto hers. "This one might fit you better."

"You owe me," she said, under her breath, looking up at him with a stern expression, but finding it hard to be angry at his fond one.  In that stupid outfit of all things.

"We'll talk about it," he said, standing up against her, grabbing the other hat off the makeshift dressing table and sliding it on his head.

"I want those coordinates," she said, all business again. "It's another Obelisk. Has to be."

"Yes ma'am," he said, tipping his hat.

***

"It's a nice look on you," May said, eyeing him as he stalked past her onto the Bus. "I approve."

He gave her an exhausted look as she switched gears.

"Did she get what she came for?"

"Yes," he said, frowning at her as he anticipated the next question.

"Did you?" May asked, trying not to smile. "I guess Bratva has moved on to more _interesting_ methods of interrogation.  We should update our files."

" _Obviously_ ," he said with frustration, gesturing to his clothing, "It was Chechen separatists, and we had to step in and sing karaoke for his mother's birthday at the last minute."

"Really?" May said, sputtering slightly. "So, how did you get the data, then...?"

"They helped us afterwards," he said, exasperated, starting to turn away from her, yanking the hat off his head.  "They liked us, I guess."

"You mean they liked Skye," May replied flatly.  Her eyes followed him as he headed up the ramp.

"Are you...still taking requests?" she yelled after him, as he rolled his eyes.

 ***

"You _do_ owe me.  You know that, right?" she said, sitting in the chair across from his desk, her feet propped up on its top.

He walked into his office, and there were those legs again.

"What do you want me to do? Sing?" he asked, stopping at her legs, sighing a little stubborn sigh.

"Yeah," she said, taking her legs off the desk so he could squeeze by. "Actually, I do."

He looked like a man desperately trying to hold onto his pride as he walked around the desk, then sat down in the chair, unbuttoning the top button of his pants and breathing in relief.

"It's not my fault they liked your voice better than mine."

"I know what babushka liked," she said suggestively.

"Don't remind me," he said, frowning and tossing the hat on the desk. "We successfully completed the op. Now, let's have a drink."

He turned around to reach for the bottle on the shelf.

"First!" she interrupted.

"Do you have a request?" he asked, back to her, pursing his lips.

"Yeah, that song I had to sing _a dozen times._  Now, you can sing it," she said, nodding her head rapidly as he turned to glare at her.

"Fine," he replied, clearing his throat.

"Don't know when I've been so blue," he started, a little off key at first, as Skye chuckled. "Don't know what's come over you," he went on, walking towards her as she snorted slightly.

"You've found someone new," he kneeled down next to her chair. "And don't it make my brown eyes blue."

"I'll be fine when you're gone..." She laughed and took her hat off, and put it over his face. 

"I'll just cry all night long," he said, pushing it away with his hand as he went on, enjoying her uncontrolled laughter.

"Okay, I'm good," she interrupted, trying to catch her breath.

"Say it isn't true," he sang loudly, snatching the hat away from her, and putting it on his head.

"Coulson," she pleaded, giggling and reaching for the hat again, as he pulled away.

"And don't it make my brown eyes blue." He took a deep breath when she appeared to be relieved. " _Tell me no secrets_..."

"Wow," Skye said, leaning forward with her elbows on the armrest. "Babushka _really_ missed out."

"You think so?" he asked, stopping to look at her, the corner of his mouth catching.

"No. Now, how about that drink?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

"Alright," he said, smiling, then pushing himself to his feet.  Then he froze.

Skye turned in the chair to follow his eyes and saw May standing in the door with her arms crossed and an unreadable expression.

"What about the rest?"


End file.
